It took almost two days for the excitement surrounding the return of Blood Tusk to die down. Almost all of the trolls saw it as a sign of hope, and they needed it, because the renewed calm was deceptive. There was an important reason why the wanderers were currently camping in this underground paradise, and everyone knew about it.

  The much-desired crossing was an hour away from this place, but Mejhek and his scouts had returned to the wanderers with a warning. He and all the wanderers had been well aware that this part of the jungle was claimed. During his explorations, however, he had noticed increased activity by two tribes and had suspected that one of these tribes had been the original diversion for the Redshards and that tribe two had noticed their presence.

  “We won’t be able to stay here much longer,” Mejhek said with a raised hand. He and the rest of the warriors didn’t want to worry the group any more. “When the two tribes turn on each other, we have to be gone by then.”

  “And that’s exactly what we should wait for,” Sa’Thuk suggested. This time, only he, a few male warriors, and a male pup were in this small group. ”Let the tribes decimate each other. Then neither of them will pose a threat to us as we move on.”

  “That can work,” Mejhek agreed, but he saw the greater danger. ”If one tribe emerges as the clear victor, however, it will scour the area for surviving enemies and will definitely find us. The losses for us could be too great.”

  “We can handle a few exhausted jackals,” Sa’Thuk growled. ”If the victor attacks us, we’ll beat them back. That will also serve as a warning to anyone who wants to oppose our new tribe.”

  “The warning has already been left behind,“ Zalun said disparagingly, because he didn’t speak of the merit of the wanderers. In front of him, cradled in his arms, sat his ten-year-old son Rhun.

  “And those who could carry the warning are all dead,” Sa’Thuk countered discontentedly. “And the Redshard tribe lives weeks away from here. No one will ever know what happened to their warriors.”

  “We know.”

  “Warnings don’t work that way,” Sa’Thuk made clear. ”Besides, he’s not one of us. We don’t boast about the deeds of strangers!”

  “At least on the latter point you have my agreement,” Djar’Ku said. He saw the idea of a confrontation as foolish, although he had held back his knowledge of Ja’Jen’s vision so far because he felt it would have caused too much fear among the wanderers. With the latest information, however, he fully understood the Yani priest’s point and tried to bring it into play as a possibility. “But we are surrounded by tribes unknown to us, both near and far. Their warbands could be too great for us, and we would not even be at full strength.”

  Sa’Thuk was honorable enough not to take credit for Blood Tusk’s success, nor did he do so proudly. However, the leader had the feeling that he had to prove his position for that very reason and he let himself be blinded by this natural rivalry and his hot temper. “I think you’ve become a little too dependent on this unclean one,” Sa’Thuk told himself. “He’s not the only one who’s a great warrior. We have many good trolls among us.”

  “I know,” Djar’Ku nodded. He didn’t doubt the determination or the skill of the warriors among the wanderers, although he clearly saw through Sa’Thuk’s motives. He knew what it was like to be a young troll and how the laws of the jungle worked, although Djar’Ku had rarely acted so blindly. That alone was reason enough for him to prevent everyone from making a mistake. “But neither you, nor I, nor anyone else can take on dozens of enemies alone. Especially not if we have to protect whelps, females and the defenseless. ”

  “You think so? I’d rather see it as a final test and sacrifice to the tiki,” Sa’Thuk said with conviction. If his group wanted to get off to a good start, an offering to the tiki was unavoidable. ”Either we survive and prove ourselves worthy or we fail and don’t deserve a new chance.”

  Djar’Ku had to control himself not to react too loudly, but his voice was clearly displeased. “If you’re so eager to die, do it alone. We have truly gone without, endured and suffered enough in the last few moons for a fresh start.”

  “Tell me, old warrior,” Sa’Thuk murmured contemptuously, feeling attacked and belittled by the statement. ”A few days ago you complained that we left the unclean alone against a huge crowd. Now I say we should face an equal fight together and that suits you just as little. Help us all to understand.”

  “What is there to understand? You want to prove yourself and are foolish.”

  “Foolish? Why? You also accepted that the gladiator volunteered for the fight,” Sa’Thuk said, smiling at the fact. ”Although, of course, you made a hasty decision because you didn’t think he would really do it.”

  “YES, it was foolish of him and I really didn’t expect him to do that,” Djar’Ku admitted with regret. However, he did not let himself be tempted by this mocking gesture, but spoke his mind in a hard-hitting manner. ”However, I can understand his point of view and there is one crucial difference between him and you.”

  “... and which one might that be?”

  “He had no real choice - you do.”

  With his eyes alone, Sa’Thuk could have mauled a troll at that moment, but Djar’Ku didn’t avert his gaze and returned his look firmly.

  “Why are we waiting?” Zalun’s son Rhun asked innocently, looking up at his father.

  The carefree voice of the whelp, out of nowhere, was enough to break the tense situation for a moment and all the warriors, led by Zalun above him, looked at his child “What do you mean, my son?” he asked seriously, but not reproachfully, because he perceived the little one as a man. His son had experienced and learned more in the past few months than a troll of his age should have, and even though he still had a few years before he would become a fully-fledged adult, Zalun had decided that he had to start treating his son as one now because of the circumstances.

  “We could just keep going,” Rhun replied confidently. ”If everyone is fighting, we’ll get what we want.”

  “So we should leave when the tribes are fighting?”

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  “Yes exactly!” Rhun nodded full of conviction and childlike innocence. ”A long time ago, in the old village, we often argued about who would be the first to play with the ball.” The mention of this memory made the whelp feel a little wistful. “Only Jun’Jun always waited, and when we were all rolling and wrestling on the ground, he would grab the ball.”

  Man or not, the child was still Zalun’s son, and he gently ruffled his hair. ”Not a bad idea at all.”

  “Yes, there is something to that,” Mejhek agreed. ”We could wait until the two tribes tear each other apart in a fight and then we have to leave as quickly as possible. I think that’s our best option and if, tiki have mercy, we have to fight, we will fight.”

  Djar’Ku was at an advantage and disadvantage, of course. He knew Ja’Jen’s vision and the whelp’s suggestion seemed to be the group’s inevitable fate. The last attempt of the wanderers and himself to start a new life. “Often, there is much wisdom to be found in the tongue of inexperienced whelps,” he said appreciatively, with a discreet sidelong glance at Sa’Thuk. “Rhun’s tongue speaks so simply that even the most stubborn ogre can grasp the meaning of his suggestion.”

  “Indeed,” Sa’Thuk agreed wholeheartedly. ”And since the youngest seem to be showing us the way, does the oldest have any advice?”

  “Rhun has already said everything we need,” said Djar’Ku, seeing this as a good opportunity to reveal the vision of Ja’Jen as common knowledge. ”Even if it gets hard if another tribe joins.”

  Sa’Thuk’s left eyebrow rose, the leathery, once-burned skin around the eye so wrinkled that muscle movements could hardly be seen. “What makes you think that?”

  “The giant’s story,” Djar’Ku said, using both fact and pretext. “And Mejhek’s descriptions. Doesn’t that ring a bell?”

  None of the group seemed to understand and Mejhek and Sa’Thuk looked at each other uncertainly before the group leader answered with a casual shrug. “For someone who doesn’t talk much, the unclean one told a lot of stories and I rarely listened. Too many stories for whelps of the arena and monsters.”

  “Mejhek described shaven trolls and those with the tooth jewelry on their backs,” Djar’Ku remarked ponderously. ”I think Blood Tusk called them Riverfangs and Baldslayers. They fought each other in the trials, but there was also a third tribe. They were probably called Venomsnakes.”

  “I see,” Sa’Thuk murmured thoughtfully. ”If those are Riverfangs and Baldslayers, then those Venomonsnakes could be close by as well. But that doesn’t change Rhun’s suggestion. Yes, we will go as soon as a larger battle is looming and try to pass unnoticed.”

  At a safe distance from the wanderers, not far from the gorge crossing, preparations were also being made, albeit against a different enemy.

  The Riverfangs knew nothing of the presence of the wanderers and were largely focused on the clearfellers that were roaming the area. In their makeshift camp, they watched and rested, sat around fires and prepared their lunch.

  Khojun led this troop of fifty Riverfang warriors, which he had rounded up without asking a few days ago after Suara had told him that the gladiator had been spotted in the Underwood Furrow. All the warriors present were loyal to the champion and had not questioned his orders when he said that intruders were lurking in the Riverfang territory. He was all the more surprised and frustrated now that he had not found the gladiator, but the damned clear-cutters. Was this a test? Had Suara tricked him on behalf of the Jatals? No, he didn’t think so. For him, Suara had always been a rather delicate, honest jungle flower that had been neglected too much. Her reaction had seemed sincere to Khojun, and he simply wanted to believe that the tiki had finally granted him retribution for his brother after his numerous prayers and sacrifices. Besides, it was thanks to the presence of the Baldslayers that the anger of his jatal had subsided for the time being over his unasked action. Yes, he saw it as a sign that his moment for justice had finally come. Only one thing bothered him considerably while he sat on a self-made throne of boulders in his tipi.

  “I was able to convince the jatal to send us more warriors,” Zu’ji announced as she entered the tipi. She had arrived the day before yesterday and was trying to do some damage control, although she had no official authority here. “We will punish the clear-cutters for desecrating the will of the tiki by setting foot in our territory.”

  “I alone could kill half of those Baldslayers,” Khojun said grimly. He was still trying to understand what the herbalist was doing here, because he didn’t really believe that she wanted to protect the troop from evil spirits and the sacrilegious treachery of the baldheads. ”But so be it. Then others can waste their time with these worthless blasphemers.”

  “You should take this more seriously,” Zu’ji admonished calmly. She didn’t understand why the Champion of the Riverfangs was here either. He had suddenly left with this pack of fighters a few days ago, and she suspected that he must have somehow found out about the presence of the ancestor or perhaps one of his most loyal scouts had spotted it or taken up its scent. “That’s why it’s even more important that you listen to what I have to say.”

  “So the snake is finally coming out of its hole,” Khojun stated scornfully. ”And I almost really believed that you came here out of pure concern for all of us.”

  “Believe it, for it is the truth,” Zu’ji replied, unmoved by the Champion’s manner. ”Even if you don’t understand it or see it yet. However, I believe that this fight could be your penance for what you did at the trials.”

  The mere mention of the event set Khojun’s body tensing and he scratched the stone under his hands with his fingers. “Atonement? For whom? Haruk’Zil? He is not my tiki,” he said unabashedly. “Meneka is the one and only and I have prayed for her forgiveness with words, the deaths of our enemies and some offerings. The Queen of Domination surely understands that I want to avenge my brother and that I will get my way.”

  Zu’ji’s eyes narrowed, but she had to be careful. The all-seeing snake’s body continued to spread among the river teeth and soon it would be able to exert more influence on Tok’Moji, but for now Meneka was still the tribe’s tiki and she had to choose her words carefully. “To see your brother fall so brutally would have touched even a dead troll,” she feigned compassion. “But surely even you cannot deny the abundant gifts and favors for our tribe since that day and the snake...”

  “Or all of this is thanks to Meneka, for deciding the dispute in our favor and making many great offerings to her,” Khojun countered firmly. This was not only due to his faith in Meneka and his loyalty to his tribe. He hadn’t forgotten how the herbalist had stood between him and the unclean before her brother’s fight. Besides, there were rumors in the village that she and some females had been lying with the dirty gladiator, and anyway, the Haruk’Zil Devoted seemed to have always had a strangely great interest in this beast. “If you want me to atone by not just chasing the Baldslayers away, but skewering their heads and burning their hearts, then rest assured – that’s what I’ll do. Now get out of my tent before I bend you over this throne, and not in the good way.”

  The threat of rape didn’t scare Zu’ji as much as she had already been through too much in her life for that. Rather, she was almost no longer accustomed to someone daring to speak to her as an equal and not in a submissive manner, and openly spurning her tiki. “Of course, I’ll leave,” she managed to squeeze out politely between her lips. “Consider my words, though... do not act hastily. It could bring great misfortune upon you, and especially upon our tribe.”

  Khojun just stared at the herbalist warningly and dismissed her without another word. After she had left, the warrior sighed heavily and rubbed his temple. What did he care about these ridiculous warnings or whatever else anyone wanted from him? Who were others anyway, constantly wanting to order him around and tell him what was best for him? Or for his brother, who he always carried with him. He had made a shrunken head out of his brain, which was considered a curse or a blessing among trolls. Khojun took the tiny head between his large fingers and looked at the sewn-up eyes of his brother, who had, of course, been richly blessed and consecrated. He had never doubted his younger brother’s abilities, but he had had a strange feeling about these fights. Khojun reproached himself for not trusting his instincts and keeping his brother away from it. “I know that not only the unclean is to blame,” he whispered to the shrunken head as he pressed it against his forehead and closed his eyes. ”Baldslayers, Venomsnakes, I will exterminate them to the last and every victory will be dedicated to you, so that you will be respected beyond the Dark Sea as you deserve.”